


Operation Desert Blunder

by Aza_Marael



Category: The Grand Tour (TV) RPF, Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: a military operation simulation, also a lot of movie references, and pants, it's exactly as terrible as it sounds, mainly for stupid reasons, minor appearances by other Voltron characters, they get shot a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-05 19:52:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11020407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aza_Marael/pseuds/Aza_Marael
Summary: “Keith!” Keith took one last glance at the door before making a flying leap through the window, arms stretched out before him—only to find his body freezing midway. With a grunt, Keith pushed at the wall, trying to pull himself out, but to no avail. Pidge and Lance just stood there, waiting.“…I think I’m stuck.”Keith glared at the two gleeful faces before him, but thankfully they didn’t go quite so far as to start laughing at him.“Did you kill all the terrorists?” Pidge asked, thankfully having some semblance of self-control.“No,” Keith groaned. “They’re definitely right behind me.”“Probably staring at your ass.” Lance snickered, and Keith shot him a look.“Just shoot me.”Or the one where Lance somehow gets them into a military training operation halfway around the world.I think we can all imagine how well that went.





	Operation Desert Blunder

**Author's Note:**

> Heavily inspired by The Grand Tour season 1 episode 2: Operation Desert Stumble. (Follows the same base plot of that particular part of the show.) Watching it was like seeing a Pidge, a Lance and a Keith in action. Only older. So I thought this would only be fitting.

How Lance got them all the way to Amman, Jordan was a mystery that Keith couldn’t figure out. How he got them to participate in a military training exercise on top of that…

Well, to be honest, Keith didn’t really want to know that one.

Keith, Lance, and Pidge arrived at a large tent, having been separated from the others a while ago. They were supposed to go in squads of three, touching down in a helicopter, where they would proceed to steal a car, travel to a hijacked plane, rescue the hostage within the plane, and then get the hostage safely to the American Embassy. It sounded easy enough.

“Do you think they use real bullets?” Pidge asked, picking up a semi-automatic rifle. If Keith hadn’t known Pidge, he probably wouldn’t be feeling so terrified right at that particular moment.

“There’s no way. This is just a training exercise, and we’re civilians.” He replied, resisting the temptation to grab the gun from Pidge before she pointed it at him.

Lance snorted, casually looking over the guns. “There’s yes way.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.” Keith snapped, but he was ignored.

“We’re not in America. They don’t have laws against this stuff.”

Pidge rolled her eyes. “Since when were you an expert in Jordanian government?”

Lance just scoffed, grabbing the rifle from Pidge’s hands. “Well, if you’re skeptical, why don’t we find out?”

He made a show of pointing it at an old white sedan nearby. Keith held back the sudden urge to point out his ridiculous face, curiosity outweighing his need to mess with Lance for the moment.

The three of them jumped as Lance fired at least a dozen shots at the car, the windows shattering and the tires blowing out. They shared wide-eyed looks, and Lance gingerly set the semi-automatic back where they’d found it. He walked away from it, whistling.

“So, you guys didn’t see anything, did you? The car was always like that, right?”

“Oh, yeah, totally.”

“I never saw a thing.”

* * *

 

 “I think I’m too short.” Pidge grumbled, her pants pooling around her ankles.

Keith sighed from where he sat, already fully dressed in uniform. The military uniform was bulky and somewhat uncomfortable, but it really wasn’t nearly as difficult as the other two were making it out to be. He wondered how Allura, Shiro, and Hunk were doing. They’d gone ahead as a separate group, definitely done by now.

“That’s because you’re putting it on wrong.” Lance reached over to help Pidge out, one shoe on his foot, only to have Pidge swatting away his hands.

“I can do it myself!” She snipped, pulling up her pants over her shorts again, grumbling to herself. “I don’t want your sweaty hands anywhere near me. Why do I have to change with _Lance_ of all people?”

“I heard that!”

Keith just rolled his eyes, interrupted only when the little pager he’d been handed went off. Both of his squad mates stopped their bickering as he read the notice, eyes skimming the screen with a quickly rising sense of dread.

“Well? What does it say?” Lance asked when Keith’s silence stretched on.

“…Every time one of us dies, we have to start over from the beginning.” Keith knew this had been a bad idea from the start. He knew he shouldn’t have agreed to let Lance drag him halfway across the world.

Pidge groaned. “This is going to take forever.”

“Nonsense!” Lance replied, hopping around as he tugged his other boot on. “We’ll beat this in record time!”

Keith had a feeling it wouldn’t quite be that easy.

* * *

 

Lance’s leg kept bouncing against Keith’s as the helicopter roared in their ears. Keith slapped his hand down on the offending appendage for the fifth time in as many minutes. “Would you quit that?!”

Lance had the gall to look defensive. “Well _excuse me_ for being ready to move! In case you forgot, we’re about to go into a _warzone_!”

“Both of you stop it!” Pidge glared at them, her hand already on the shotgun by her side. They shut up.

The vehicle shook, and Lance took a deep breath. As it steadied itself, the door before them swung open, and Pidge kicked the rope down. “Okay, so who wants to go first?”

“Lance does.” Keith smirked at the look of utter betrayal splayed across the Latino’s face. “What? You said you were ready to move.”

“Why don’t _you_ go first?” Keith would admit that he was currently enjoying this. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“I’m afraid of heights.”

“No you are not!”

Keith feigned a hurt look. “But I am!”

Lance whirled on Pidge, who just shrugged and looked away. “Don’t look at me.”

Lance huffed and Keith decided it was time to hammer in the last nail. “Well,” he made sure to speak just a little louder, so Lance could hear him, “I would hope that Lance doesn’t beat me in this. But since he won’t go down either, I guess he’ll lose again.”

Pidge caught on quick, adding her own bit. “Go on and be the leader. Show us how it’s done.”

As he predicted, Lance growled, already struggling to get out of the straps keeping him in his seat. “Oh, we’ll see about that, mullet.” He muttered, probably meant for only him to hear, but Keith and Pidge were close enough to give each other amused looks.

Lance grabbed the rope and swung off of the helicopter. The other two watched as he continued to swing there somewhat awkwardly.

“Uh, Lance,” Pidge called out, leaning over her seat as best she could to peer over the edge and meet Lance’s scowl. “You loosen your grip in order to slide down. Understand?”

“I know how to slide down a rope!” He called back, but followed Pidge’s instructions, sliding and halting, and sliding and halting. Pidge and Keith continued to watch, snickering. They couldn’t see him very well from their seats by this point, but hearing Lance grumbling to himself under his breath was enough to conjure up a complete image.

When all they could see was the top of Lance’s head, the two shared a look, seeing he hadn’t moved _down_ in a few minutes. Yet he was wriggling on the rope enough to make it jerk around like a worm fighting for its life. “You okay down there?”

There was a pause before he answered. “Uh… Yeah! Yeah, fine. Just… I’m gonna continue sliding down now.”

He did continue sliding down, but his answer was enough for curiosity to overpower caution, and Keith and Pidge unstrapped themselves and slid to the edge of the helicopter, looking over.

“Oh my _god_.”

Lance glared up at the gleeful faces of his ‘squad mates’ (more like squad traitors) trying simultaneously slide down and keep his pants from falling further down. They were hanging about his knees, kept from falling off entirely only by the rope he squeezed between his legs.

“Are those _blue cats_ on your underwear?” Keith asked, barely heard over Pidge’s cackling.

Lance deigned not to answer, dangling there while he reached down with one hand and struggled to pull his pants up. There was not much success.

“Hey, stop laughing! I’ll have you know this is the cool thing to do! The Jordanian military always lets their pants fall when they’re coming down the rope because it’s cool!” Even Lance had to admit that was a terrible excuse.

He slid down a little farther, his toes just grazing the ground when a brief spike of pain made itself known in his side. Lance groaned, loud and long, and above him Keith and Pidge laughed harder.

* * *

 

The helicopter hovered above the roof, door open, rope dangling. Lance made his way for it without hesitation.

“Gonna redeem yourself?” Pidge asked gleefully, and Lance just stuck his tongue out before jumping out of the vehicle. He slid down without a problem this time, though if anyone noticed that he held onto the hem of his pants as he went down, they didn’t say anything.

Keith went next, and Lance glowered at the ease with which Keith slid down the rope. “Did you grow up in a firehouse or something?”

“Um, no?”

They looked up as Pidge shrieked in terror, sliding down the rope probably too fast to be safe.

“Pidge! Hold onto it tighter!” Lance shouted, and she seemed to follow his advice, jerking to a stop about halfway down. She still had fifteen feet to go.

“Lance! I take back everything! Let me use your face as a landing pad!” She screeched, clutching the rope with a white-knuckled grip.

“What?! No! Just slide down _slowly_ this time!”

Pidge gave him an incredulous look and Lance would totally admit that he was finding the current situation immensely amusing. “But what if I get shot?!”

“Don’t worry! It’s just like paintball!”

“I went to the _hospital_ because of paintball!”

Red powder bloomed in Pidge’s back, and she yelped, falling another five feet before reapplying her death grip on the rope. Lance laughed. Revenge was _sweet._

* * *

 

The awe of being in a goddamn helicopter and the anxiety of going into a warzone (simulated or not) had worn off by the third time, and they waited in silence.

“…I am _not_ doing that again.” Pidge grumbled, and Lance grinned cheekily.

“Aw, c’mon, Pidge. It can’t be _that_ bad.”

“Guys.” They both turned to Keith, who looked wholly unimpressed. “Helicopters can land.”

They didn’t argue with that.

The helicopter, as Keith had said, landed just outside the building, and the three jumped out, hands holding onto their respective weapons. They huddled on either side of the door leading inside. It was closed, but Lance grabbed the doorknob, prepared to open it.

“I’m going to throw a stun grenade.” Pidge warned, voice low. The other two nodded, and Lance was about to wrench to wrench open the door when Pidge screeched. “Wait wait wait!”

He gave the little genius an exasperated look. “ _What?_ ”

“I have to read the instructions first.” She gave him a pointed look, and Keith and Lance groaned. “Okay, I’m done.”

This time, Lance wrenched open the door and Pidge swung hard. They waited a few seconds before charging in, only to charge right back out.

Keith coughed as the three of them stumbled out the door.

“I thought you said you were throwing a _stun_ grenade!”

“Did I say stun? I meant smoke.”

When the smoke cleared, they returned to the building, Lance still blinking profusely.

The building seemed empty, and they made a quick sweep through the building, spotting nothing and converging upon the last closed—and locked—door. Lance had gotten there first, and Keith and Pidge arrived to see his foot tap the door.

Keith rolled his eyes, walking over. “Lance—Okay, no—Lance, stop— _Lance!_ ” Lance looked over with a feigned innocence and Keith suppressed his scowl with little success. “When you break down a door, you have to use more force. Drive that force through your heel.” The Cuban followed the instructions and the door bust open. “Yeah, like that.”

Pidge peered inside. “There’s nothing worthwhile in here.”

“Were we sent on a wild goose chase?” The sound of tromping boots not far from them answered Lance’s question. “Yeah, okay, never mind. Let’s go!” Pidge grabbed his collar.

“If you think you can take down a dozen terrorists, you’re mistaken.” Once sure he wouldn’t take off running, Pidge waved to the others. “There’s a window we can get out from over here.”

It was a small window, barely big enough for an adult body.

“I’ll cover you.” Keith immediately turned his firearm on the open door. With minimal help from Lance, Pidge leapt through the window, popping to her feet on the other side. Lance didn’t have quite the same ease and agility as Pidge when it came to getting through the window, but he pulled himself through.

“Keith!” Keith took one last glance at the door before making a flying leap through the window, arms stretched out before him—only to find his body freezing midway. With a grunt, Keith pushed at the wall, trying to pull himself out, but to no avail. Pidge and Lance just stood there, waiting.

“…I think I’m stuck.”

Keith glared at the two gleeful faces before him, but thankfully they didn’t go quite so far as to start laughing at him.

“Did you kill all the terrorists?” Pidge asked, thankfully having some semblance of self-control.

“No,” Keith groaned. “They’re definitely right behind me.”

“Probably staring at your ass.” Lance snickered, and Keith shot him a look.

“Just shoot me.”

That was the last straw, and Lance and Pidge started laughing hysterically. Keith just sat there and watched them, highly unamused. Eventually, they finally decided to end his misery, Pidge pulling out a semi-automatic.

“Ready?” Pidge asked, leveling it at him.

Keith just rolled his eyes and closed them. “Just get it over with.”

Pidge fired a dozen shots, eyes squinting behind glasses from the sheer force of the kick.

Both Pidge and Keith opened their eyes. Finding himself unfazed, Keith looked up to see the bullet holes surrounding the window.

“How did you miss me?!”

Pidge threw her arms up in the air, Lance ducking away to avoid getting hit by the barrel of the gun as it swung upwards. “Well _sorry_ if I’ve never shot a gun before! Aiming these stupid things is harder than it looks!”

“I’m practically at point-blank range! Even an amateur could hit me!”

Lance, deciding that their argument wasn’t as funny as he thought it would be, walked around the building where he’d seen that one thing earlier. Finding it, he grinned, picking it up and returning to the others. They stopped arguing in favor of staring wide-eyed at Lance.

“Uh, Lance,” Pidge’s body was tense, “What are you doing with that?”

Lance walked over to Keith, held up the shovel, and swung.

* * *

 

Keith groaned again. “My head hurts.”

Lance rolled his eyes as the three of them ran through, checking the building for hostiles. “You asked for it.”

The sound of pounding footsteps headed their way alerted them to newcomers just as they reached the same hallway as before. Lance and Pidge immediately headed for the window. Keith started following them, but stopped.

“Why don’t I go through the door?” He didn’t wait for an answer before turning around and jogging towards the nearest door.

Keith met up with them outside, the two giving him half-amused, half-annoyed looks. He ignored them.

“So what next?”

“We need to steal a car.” Pidge pointed down the dirt road, where a Renault sat, just waiting for them to take it. That was the only reprieve they got as terrorists popped up everywhere.

Keith rolled out of the way of a barrage of bullets to hide behind a wall, Lance leaping after him. Pidge had ducked behind a crate, eyes flitting over in their direction to make sure no one had gotten shot before pulling out her semi-automatic and firing back. Lance didn’t waste any time either, shooting quickly and accurately for someone who had never handled a gun before. It took Keith several moments to figure out how to use it before he followed their lead.

When the sound of bullets finally died, Pidge decided it was safe enough to look up from behind her battered crate of safety. She scanned their surroundings.

“Okay, guys, I think we’re safe.”

Keith and Lance creep out from behind the wall, deciding it to be okay as Lance adopts a swagger in his step. “Took care of them—” His words of self-praise are tragically cut short as a bullet narrowly misses his foot, and Lance scurries back to cover, dragging Keith with him. Pidge joins them behind the wall.

“How are we supposed to get past that sniper?” Lance growled, peeking around the wall. His head snapped back as a bullet whizzed by.

Keith snorted, earning a glare that he knew would be well-deserved. “Well, since you’re the fastest around here Lance, why don’t you run over, grab the car, and come back around for us.”

Lance looked a little doubtful, but he agreed nonetheless. Keith was surprised that was all it took. Pidge knew that Keith praising him as the better one could make Lance do almost anything.

“I’ll be right back.” He took a minute stretching, ignoring the eye rolls, squinting at the Renault and muttering to himself. “Eyes on the prize, Lance. Eyes on the prize.”

He sprinted, made it about ten feet, and got shot.

* * *

 

“Alright. I’ll get it this time.” Pidge frowned.

“Lance, I don’t think you can run faster than a bullet. Why don’t we just find another way?” Lance scoffed at the absurd idea.

“Oh, please, Pidge. Who do you think you’re talking to?” He grinned, not sticking around to hear Keith’s snicker or Pidge’s sigh of defeat as he took off running.

Lance got shot.

* * *

 

After about the fifth time of Lance’s attempt, Keith and Pidge came down carrying large crates. The sniper let Lance get a little farther every time, so they should have more than enough time.

As Lance went about stretching, Keith pulled out the little foldable table, setting it on the ground as Pidge draped a white tablecloth over it. Keith set up little bowls and platters of food as Pidge put up some candles, lighting them. Keith sat down, looking up to see Pidge pulling out a bottle of wine and two glasses.

He frowned. “Pidge, I don’t think we’re allowed to drink that. We’re underage.” Pidge scoffed at his lack of intelligence.

“C’mon Keith, Shiro’s not watching. Besides, we’re in Jordan. Jordan’s drinking age is eighteen—sixteen in some places.” Pidge grinned smugly, popping open the bottle and pouring a glass. “And I just turned sixteen last month.”

Keith attempted the Shiro Disapproval Stare for all of five seconds before giving in.

“Alright, fine. Hand it over.”

Lance took off running as Pidge imitated a connoisseur, swishing the glass around and wafting the smell of the wine up to her face. She wrinkled her nose at the smell, but smoothed it out before Keith could see it.

It didn’t matter much regardless, as Keith had decided to take on the daunting task of attempting to peel a quail egg. He was utterly focused on his task, and gave a cry of success as Pidge began tipping back the glass, pinky raised obtusely up in the air.

The sound of a shot fired.

Keith and Pidge groaned.

* * *

 

This time, they wasted no time.

As Lance began making his running start, Keith and Pidge threw everything on the table unceremoniously, Pidge struggling with the cork as Keith put his quail-egg-peeling skills to the test.

Pidge popped open the bottle, pouring the wine into her glass before throwing her head back and—

_Bang_.

* * *

 

“Lance, can’t you die a little slower?”

“Excuse me if I’m trying my best not to die at all!”

Pidge smirked and shrugged. She couldn’t stop Lance’s immaturity.

Lance huffed, glaring at his two ex-friends once more before shouting up into the canyon. “Hey, sniper!” Pulling out a handgun, he aimed it in the direction of the canyon he’d been yelling at before. “Say hello to my little friend!”

Keith whistled as he looked up, shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun. “Nice shot.”

Lance preened, but his moment of glory was cut short as Pidge called over to them. “Guys, over here!”

A garage, closer to them than the Renault had been, with the doors open—no doubt courtesy of Pidge. Within was an old truck and an Audi. Lance groaned, head flying back with the weight of his indignation. “You’re kidding! You mean I didn’t even have to do that?”

“Nope.”

Lance glared at them. “Ugh, fine. I’ll cover you, just get the car started.”

He pretended not to hear them snickering as they left, and he pulled out one of the numerous firearms at his disposal, sweeping the area back and forth.

Pidge and Keith decided to head for the Audi, seeing as it’s no doubt the nicer car. And their hostage got the best. (Also the truck didn’t appear to have air conditioning, but that was beside the point.)

They both picked through the truck. “I can’t find the keys.” Keith reported from the back seat. Pidge, coming up empty-handed as well, waved the comment off with an air of over-confidence.

“Don’t even worry about it. I’m going to hotwire this bitch.”

“…Lance, we have to start over. Pidge electrocuted herself.”

* * *

 

When her hand was blocked from touching the steering wheel, Pidge scowled up at Keith. “I can do it this time.”

“No.”

Lance, on the other hand, got impatient after about ten minutes of hearing nothing but the distant sound of arguing from his two companions. He glanced over to see Pidge in the passenger seat, rifling through what looked to be the glove compartment. Keith’s ass was sticking out from the backseat.

He rolled his eyes, hiking his gun up and stalking over to them. “Have you seen any action movie ever?” He reached up to the sun visor, producing the keys. At least Keith had the decency to look embarrassed.

After a brief argument over who got to drive, (“I found the keys.” “I’m the one with the bike.” “Guys, I can—” “ _NO_.”) Keith smirked into the rearview mirror, shifting the gear into drive, and pretending Lance wasn’t in the backseat doing a terrible job at backseat driving.

The prescribed path was simple enough, and Keith found that—other than a couple of stray terrorists—it was a rather peaceful drive. That is, up to the point where they reached the plane.

According to the mission briefing, they were supposed to storm the hijacked plane and rescue the hostage from within. It wasn’t hard (aside from the arguing) to come up with a plan, and Keith kept his head low as he charged outside, Lance and Pidge covering him from the outside.

The inside of the plane was relatively quiet, and Keith looked inside. All of the passengers were either not moving or manikins, with the exception of one.

He—or should he be referred to as a she, here?— looked out the window with an expression of utter calm, hands folded and placed daintily on a billowing skirt. Iverson’s intimidating demeanor did not seem to be present, but that might have been the old-school dress talking.

Keith swallowed, and crept over with cautious movements. “Er, Commander—”

“I’m the Queen of England.” He growled, lone eye briefly flashing up at him before returning to the window. Keith jumped, kept his finger off the trigger, and swallowed.

“…Right. Your— Your Highness, I’m part of an elite military squad and—” The shattering of glass interrupted him, and Keith groaned. (Though, to be honest, the man kind of deserved it.)

He let his tense, alert stance relax as he walked outside.

“Keith, where’s the hostage?”

“He—Er, she got shot. The Queen of England got shot.”

* * *

 

Keith entered the plane once more, this time a little more prepared for what he was to see.

His Highness Commander Iverson did not react as Keith walked up to him. “Your Highness, I’m part of an elite military squad and we’re here to escort you to a safe place—” Keith’s head snapped to the side as pain bloomed in his temple. He groaned, cursing under his breath and looked out the now-broken plane window.

Lance had his gun aimed at the plane.

“Lance, why the hell did you shoot me? We’re allies!”

“You were shooting at me.” His face was indignant, and Keith was utterly baffled.

“ _…What?_ ”

* * *

 

The third time around, Keith took a deep breath, and the words came spitting out as fast as he could form them.

“Your Highness, I’m part of an elite military squad and we’re here to escort you to a safe place. Please follow me to the car.”

Finally Iverson acknowledged him—other than that brief, out of character moment spent to correct him—turning his head and looking up at Keith with a demure expression that looked utterly wrong on his face.

“Who are you?”

Keith sighed, loud and long, before trying again. “I just said—”

“Dude, I thought you said the hostage was the Queen of England.” Keith turned to see Pidge and Lance waltzing in. His brow—which was still sore, mind you—twitched.

“Is there anyone outside?”

Pidge grinned, and if she looked just a little evil, no one said anything. “Everyone outside is dead.”

Keith was primarily the one escorting Queen Iverson to the car, however reluctantly, and Pidge took that chance to dive into the driver’s seat. Lance pulled the door to the passenger’s seat shut behind him, and Keith was just resigned as he opened the door for Iverson before climbing into the other side.

As Pidge set the car into motion, two more cars pulled out from behind an adjacent building, roaring towards them and kicking up dust in their wake.

“Dude, step on it!” Lance shrieked, Pidge slapping his hand away from the wheel.

“I’m trying! I can’t help it if the pedals are kind of hard to reach!”

“That’s because you shouldn’t even be driving.”

“Are you making a comment about my _height_? What are you, five?”

Keith shoved his head between the two seats. “Just _drive_!”

He leaned back only when they actually started moving at a pace faster than their pursuers, Queen Iverson staring listlessly out the car window. It actually really unnerved Keith, seeing the intimidating man so mild-mannered.

There were a few blissful moments of silence. Only a few.

“You know, an Audi S8 Plus has a 4-litre twin turbo V8 engine with 597 horsepower, 0-62 in 3.8 seconds.” Pidge rattled off, the only other two (semi) sane ones in the car giving her bemused looks of ones who’d been through this many times.

“No, Pidge, we didn’t know that.” Lance snarked back. Pidge didn’t seem to notice the satire dripping from his words.

“It’s also got a top speed of 155mph.”

“Really.”

Keith glared at him. Lance smirked in amusement.

The bullets interrupted the little window of peaceful bickering, Pidge just continuing to drive with a calm, though not very safe, manner.

“And did you know—”

“This is not the time for that!” Lance shouted, rolling down his window to stick his gun out and shoot back. Pidge continued over the roar of the wind and the rattling of gunfire.

“That is very interesting.” Keith and Lance gave the Queen a strange look before turning their attention back to shooting at the cars chasing them. Some things were not meant to be questioned.

“Keith!” Pidge yelled. “What kind of cars are they driving?!”

A few shots later, Keith answered, “Uhh, trucks?” Pidge shot him a look through the rearview mirror. “What? I don’t know cars.”

“That’s right. He knows bikes. Get your vehicle buffs right, Pidge.”

“Shut up, Lance.”

Pidge cleared her throat, interrupting the both of them. “Well gentlemen and…” she paused, looking at Iverson, “Lady-Gentleman, here’s a tip for you. If you’re being chased by a car that’s slower than the one you’re in, simply drive fast than it.”

“See, that’s what Nick Cage should have thought about in the Rock. Same goes for the guy in Ronin.” Lance replied, nodding along with the sagely advice.

Keith growled at both of them over the sound of gunfire. “Will you both shut up and get us out of this mess?!”

Another few minutes of this passed until Lance managed to get a lucky shot in. One of the trucks behind them erupted in flames, steering off-course and crashing into a nearby building, both blowing up at the crash.

“Dude,” Lance stared, dumbfounded.

“That is not realistic.” Keith snorted, and went back to shooting, pretending he didn’t also want to make a car go boom.

* * *

 

“Where the hell is the Embassy?!” Pidge screeched, after having driven around recklessly for what felt like eons, being shot at and followed doggedly.

She turned a sharp corner, nearly sending Lance out of the car, turning a curve and watching another building make its appearance from behind another. Its marble walls gleamed, a lone flag flapping in the breeze.

“There! There it is!” She shrieked, and the other two turned around to see the building.

EMBASSY was written on a large billboard atop it.

Pidge came to a screeching stop in the driveway before it, the three of them plus the Queen clambering out. Shiro, Hunk, Allura, and Coran watched from the safety of the building, cheering them on.

_Bang_.

Queen Iverson hit the ground, and they all groaned simultaneously. The moment of collective anguish was disrupted, however, as Keith pulled out a pistol and shot Lance square in the chest, smirking.

“Payback.”

* * *

 

The car screeched to a stop, and Keith jumped out first, taking cover behind the vehicle and firing shots back at the bastards that started shooting first.

Lance and Pidge, in the meantime, grab the Queen and hustle for the large white finish line marking the Embassy property.

Keith shot at one of the hidden enemies, missing and catching him in the arm. The man’s gun flew sideways and shot one of his own allies, and in that confusion Keith took out his original target as well as another.

“Yes!”

He turned around, grinning, and watched Pidge and the Queen get shot.

* * *

 

They jumped out of the car, Pidge covering them this time as Lance and Keith haul the Queen out the car.

“You two make better meat shields than I do,” Pidge deadpanned, “So do your jobs right, meat bags!”

A few bullets barely missed their feet, but Lance and Keith hit the finish line running, releasing the Queen and high-fiving each other. They turned to watch Pidge complete their victory, the gunfire having stopped a while ago as Pidge had taken out the rest. Pidge began running towards them, grinning victoriously…

…and got shot.

“ _PIDGE!!!_ ” Lance shrieked, and he and Keith fell to their knees. “ _NOOOO!!!”_

“Shane! Shane! Come back!!”

“…Lance, stop quoting movies.”

* * *

 

The three jumped out of the car, ducking down to avoid the bullets flying around them and the car.

“This time, _I’m_ covering us.” Lance hissed, drama seeping from his very pores, and popped up to shoot back at the shooters, screaming bad movie quotes and random attack names.

Keith, Pidge, and Queen Iverson took his distraction (and promise) for what it’s worth, throwing themselves across the white words reading FINISH LINE.

Lance was still shooting, continuing to do so for a time—he’s determined not to make Pidge’s mistake—so Keith sat back and watched as Pidge struck up a conversation with the Queen.

“So, what exactly are your views on extraterrestrial diplomacy?”

The shooting stopped briefly, and they all looked up to see Lance running for them. As he did, the bullets started flying once more, and Keith and Pidge cheered him on; or rather, Keith cheered him on and Pidge played announcer.

“And he’s making a run for it, folks! He’s almost there—thirty feet, twenty, and _ooh_ , that’s gotta hurt. Talk about feeling like being shot in the hip. But he’s still going! _Ouch_ , another shot—this time in the arm—and he’s got fifteen feet! Ten!”

Lance kept going, despite the repeated shots to his body, jogging at a slower and slower pace with each shot that connects. He was mere feet from the line when a shot hit his back, and Lance crumpled.

“Ooh, and he’s down, folks!”

They’re prepared to start over, to do it one more time, when Lance twitched. Lance slowly came back to life, crawling forward, inch by inch, with slow and aching movements.

Pidge went quiet while Keith threw out terrible encouragements that Lance promised to rag on him for later.

“Just roll over, that’s it, c’mon Lance.” Keith muttered, fists shaking up and down in what was probably supposed to be an encouraging gesture. Lance followed through with the advice anyways, and Keith and Pidge cheered as his feet finally crossed.

Queen Iverson looked down at the beaten and blooded Lance.

“Did you come a long way?”

Lance groaned and face-planted in the dirt.

**Author's Note:**

> ...I have no excuses.


End file.
